


safety's in the sights of looking forwards

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29626497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: For just a minute it feels like he’s watching everything from underwater. There’s blood, but it seems so far. There’s yelling, there’s crying, but it seems so drowned out.He tries to snap himself out of it. His legs are shaking as he stands.Gwen is shouting. She’s telling Ered to call an ambulance, she’s trying to tell David to calm down.Max takes a few steps forward. She’s shouting at him now.“What the fuck, Max?”“I—“ he stammers. “I thought it was fucking fake—“[Alternate ending to "Keep the Change".]
Relationships: David & Max (Camp Camp), Gwen & Max (Camp Camp)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32
Collections: Happy Birthday Marcus





	safety's in the sights of looking forwards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefigureinthecorner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefigureinthecorner/gifts).



> Title is from "A New Mission" by Josh Whitehouse.
> 
> Happy birthday Marcus! I am not going to waste time typing any sentimental nonsense because this is already an hour late and I want you to be able to read it. We can talk about how much I love you and am grateful you're in my life later, the angst comes first.
> 
> (Note that that is also the reason I proofread none of this, so no assurances it'll be good.)

He’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting. He does know for certain, however, what he’s  _ not expecting. _

He’s not expecting the near painful sensation of the gun pushing back against his arm, causing him to fall backwards to the ground. He’s not expecting the almost deafening sound that rings through the room and that, being a fucking American, he’s learned to identify as definitely-not-fireworks.

He’s not expecting to hear David— and practically everyone else around them— start fucking  _ screaming. _

“Whoah, what the hell, kid?” The robber asks, shaken. He grabs the gun out of Max’s hand quickly and, his arm still aching and him still completely in shock, Max loosens his grip on it entirely.

The other campers have split into two groups. The ones running towards David and the ones slowly backing away from Max.

He’s aware of everything that’s happening, but his body and his mind don’t seem to be processing any sort of reaction. He’s trying to search his mind for words and is coming up empty.

For just a minute it feels like he’s watching everything from underwater. There’s blood, but it seems so far. There’s yelling, there’s crying, but it seems so drowned out.

He tries to snap himself out of it. His legs are shaking as he stands.

Gwen is shouting. She’s telling Ered to call an ambulance, she’s trying to tell David to calm down.

Max takes a few steps forward. She’s shouting at him now.

“What the  _ fuck, _ Max?”

“I—“ he stammers. “I thought it was fucking fake—“

Blood. There’s blood. The closer he gets, the more of it he sees.  _ Fuck. _ This wasn’t supposed to happen. No, he was supposed to fire that gun and fucking  _ bubbles _ or foam bullets were supposed to come out and it was supposed to be the winning move in their stupid little game.

He’s standing right over David now. David who is bleeding, and crying, and screaming at frankly comical intervals and volumes. David who is, in between sobs, now trying to assure  _ him  _ that it’s okay.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for the ambulance to arrive. Logically he knows it didn’t come as fast as it seemed to. He knows that he stood there, refusing to budge, as Campbell and Quartermaster herded the other kids away from the scene and as Gwen had told him to go along with them. He knows he stood there long enough for Gwen to give up on trying to convince him to do anything else. He knows that he stood there long enough for David to stop screaming and for that screaming to give way to just unending  _ sobbing. _

And yet in all the time he stood there, he wasn’t standing there long enough to find words,  _ any words, _ to voice anything that he wanted to.

When the ambulance does arrive, he watches Gwen climb into it after David is loaded on, and he climbs up, with a bit less ease than she had, after her.

“Max--” she begins, about to tell him off, tell him to go back to the mess hall with the others, and he can hear how scared and how tired she is. He thinks that at that realization, something in his expression must soften to from showing the sheer determination he had been feeling to something more sympathetic.

There’s one open seat in the back of the ambulance, and Gwen is already occupying it. There’s barely time for her to sigh and press herself up against the wall, leaving about half the seat open and for him to sit down beside her before the doors close. She fastens the seat belt around them and he tries to push back the fear and nausea in his stomach as they wait out the ambulance ride.

The problem is, that Camp Campbell is fairly removed from civilization. The paramedics sedate David, and Max can feel Gwen clutching his shoulder tightly. He ignores the discomfort of her too-tight grasp and tries not to turn his head towards where the paramedics in the back have begun doing something else now that he’s sure he does not want the details of.

Max doesn’t like hospitals. He’s never liked hospitals. Hospitals mean bright lights and invasive questions and people worrying and people crying and people telling him to calm down when he  _ shouldn’t be calm _ because he’s in a fucking hospital for God’s sake.

No one is telling him to be calm this time. No one is telling him to stop crying or shooting him stern glares or trying to ask him more questions than he knows how to answer. No, the focus isn’t on him now. Gwen is off talking to someone and all the doctors and nurses are rushing around paying him no mind and he’s just sitting in the waiting room crying quietly to himself. His knees are tucked into his chest and his hoodie is enveloping every inch of him that it can fit. His arms are wrapped around his legs, hands clasped so tightly together he feels like a rubber band about to snap.

He sits in the chair, barely touching the backrest or armrests as he rocks ever so slightly back and forth. He can still hear the sound of that gun. Why was it so  _ fucking _ loud? It was supposed to be  _ fake. _ Nothing was supposed to happen. He was supposed to prove his point, and everyone was supposed to be pissed at David for a few minutes before things reset to their sitcom-fucking-esque status quo.

He doesn’t register Gwen trying to get his attention. Not the first time, at least.

_ “Max.  _ Can you  _ hear _ me?”

He glances upwards, nodding a bit.  _ Stop crying stop crying stop-- _

“Listen to me, David’s gonna be okay. I need you to take some deep breaths--”   
  
He doesn’t  _ want _ to take deep breaths. Instead, he tries to force back his sobs, but it only results in a strange choked sound ripping its way out of his throat. “It was an accident,” he forces out almost immediately after. “It wasn’t supposed to be real. Didn’t think it was real.”

“I know. I know you didn’t mean to. You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine, alright? Come on, kid, deep breaths.”

He tries to do so and can feel his breath  _ shake _ on the inhale. The exhale feels forced, but necessary. Like failing to hold your breath underwater.

He tries again.

The breaths get easier and steadier with each one he takes. As he feels himself slowly calming down, he gets more focused on Gwen. For someone who has a mental crisis every time someone wakes her up from a nap, she seems… well, not completely losing it. No, between him and  _ Gwen _ he’s not going to be the unstable one. No, he’s fine, he should be fine, he’s--

“Max?”

He’s fucking crying again.

“Come here.” She crouches down and leans in to hug him. He flinches at the initial contact-- some warning would have been nice-- but leans hesitantly into it. He presses his face up against her shoulder, willing to get her shirt wet and suffer that embarrassment if it means something to help muffle the loud sobs.

It was an accident.

He knows you probably don’t die from a shot like that, not when you get to the hospital and there are doctors who are there to help you and who are  _ saying _ that you’ll be fine. But the fact that no one is going to die doesn’t change the fact that he shot a person.

He was  _ wrong _ and he shot a person.

Maybe he was right. People don’t change. He may have been playing clever with all of the adventures he’d led his friends on this past summer, with all the ways he’s helped save the camp, helped save his friends. He’s spent a summer fighting off Wood Scouts and cultists and con men and Kentuckians and every other fucked up machination that the forces that be at Camp Campbell and Lake Lilac have thrown at him and he’s learned  _ nothing. _

“Listen, Max, this is not your fault.” He can barely hear her over his muffled sobs. “You were in a stressful situation that no one prepared you for and you reacted in a way that you really thought was the right way. It’s not your fault that you were put in that situation.”

“I fucking  _ shot him.” _ He pulls away slightly, looking straight up at her. “I shot a dude, Gwen. I could go to fucking juvie or something.”   
  
“You’re not going anywhere. And he’s gonna be alright.”   
  
He glares at her uncertainly. There doesn’t seem to be many tears left in his body to cry, so he wipes away what remains on his face. He tries and fails not to sniffle as he does. “You promise?”

“Yes, Max, I fucking promise. The doctors say it really wasn’t that bad of a wound.” She doesn’t sound mad at him, she just sounds… She sounds like Gwen. He doesn’t think he’s had a conversation with her last as long without her cussing at him as this one had. It’s nice to see something go back to normal.

He only realizes he hasn’t responded when she clears her throat, interrupting what must have been a long period of silence. “We can go in and talk to David in a little bit. Do you want to… I don’t know, watch something on my phone until then?”

“Is he gonna want to talk to me?”   
  
“Of course he is. He’s David. You could do anything and he’ll still be all smiling and happy to see you.”

He thinks back to David lying down on the grass, trying to tell Max that it was going to be okay. He feels a heavy feeling rise in his stomach and his eyes start to water. He tries to force the feeling back. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”   
  
She seems to notice the way his expression changes and once again tries to suggest a distraction. “We could call back to camp? You can talk to Nikki and Neil and we can let everyone know that things are going to be fine.”

“Yeah,” he responds hesitantly. “Okay.” He holds his hand out expectantly and she gives him a look, making the call for him before handing the phone over.

He takes the phone. He takes another deep breath. Someone picks up on the other end.

Things are going to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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